The following took place on my 40th birthday…
A 40 year old man sidles up to a batting cage counter.
“Slow pitch?”, says the late teens, early twenty something lad on the other side.
“Fast pitch, please.”, I reply, not quite taking offense.
“We don’t have fast pitch softball here.”
Now I was offended.
He didn’t seem to understand.
I added, “A bucket of 50 balls.”
“We don’t have that option anymore.”
“Then what are your rates?”, my Peter Pan complex generally keeps me from feeling old but I was this close to calling this kid a whipper snapper.
He pointed to the sign on the counter. Direct customer service at its finest. I suppose I would have seen the sign before asking the question if I wasn’t such an old man.
$15 for 15 minutes.
The 30 minute rate was unreasonable. So was the idea of me swinging a 34 ounce bat for a rhythmic half hour.
“Ok, I’ll take the 15.”, and I paid the man (?). My change would not be going towards the dusty, yet more prominently featured than the rates ‘TIPS WELCOMED’ sign.
“How fast?”, the kid asked.
Was that a smirk?
Boy, would I love to show him I could hit 80 mph dimpled, rubber balls with an aluminum bat.
“65, please. Thank you.”, I said with some resignation.
And so my training for Fantasy Camp had begun at the end of October 2014.